Her Best Worst Mistake (17 page)

He raised his glass. “Bravo to you.”

She’d fought back with the only weapons she had: her
body and her spirit.

“
Thank you. It
worked, too. I had his full attention when Diana gave him her
ultimatum—I went or she did, because she was not having
her
girls grow up under
the same roof as me.”

“
What did he say?”

“
Nothing.”

“
Excuse me?” He braced his hands on
the counter and stared at her. “What do you mean,
nothing?”

“
He refused to get involved. He told
us to work it out amongst ourselves. So we did. I left. And I
haven’t been back.”

There was pride behind her simple words, and deep
hurt. He tried to imagine how it must have been for her—exploited
by a trusted mentor, abandoned by the people who should have stood
up and protected her.

“
You got dealt a shitty hand,
Violet,” he said quietly.

“
It wasn’t great for a while there.
But Elizabeth made sure I got through. She stuck by me through all
the drama and scandal and expulsions, even though her grandparents
wanted her to distance herself from me. She never backed off or let
me down. Not once.”

She blinked rapidly and he realized she was on the
verge of tears. He rounded the counter to get to her, trying to
understand. She’d recounted all the ugliness of her teen years with
dry eyes, shedding not a single tear for her younger self. Yet now
she was talking about Elizabeth she was coming undone...?

“
Violet,” he said, sliding his arm
around her shoulders.

She looked up at him, her eyelashes spiky with
moisture. “Elizabeth rang this morning. She’s not coming home.
She’s staying in Australia.”

The tears spilled over then, rolling down her cheeks.
He pulled her into his arms, aware of a tightness in his chest. Not
because of what she’d just told him about Elizabeth, but because
she was hurting and he didn’t know how to make it stop.

“
I’m sorry,” he said stupidly. “I
know how much she means to you.”

“
She’s my best friend. My
rock.”

“
I know.”

She turned her face into his shoulder. He rested his
hand on the nape of her neck and stared at the kitchen wall. If
there was anything he could say or do to make things right for her,
he’d do it, in a heartbeat. But there wasn’t, so all he could do
was hold her.

He thought about what she’d just told him, filling in
the blanks, joining the dots. Whether she knew it or not, her grief
over losing Elizabeth was tied up with the hurts from her past.
She’d put all her eggs in Elizabeth’s basket because she had no
other baskets, and now Elizabeth was abandoning her, as so many
other people in her life had.

For a moment he was filled with an irrational anger
toward Elizabeth. She must know how large she loomed in Violet’s
life, how important she was. How on earth could she walk away from
Violet, knowing her history and how alone she was?

The rational part of his brain knew that Elizabeth
was entitled to her own life. He was uniquely placed to understand
how much she’d earned the right to seek her own happiness, on her
own terms—even if that meant moving half way around the world. But
it didn’t stop him from wanting to shake her.

Violet stirred in his arms, sniffing loudly. “Do you
have any tissues?”

“
I have handkerchiefs. Hold on and
I’ll grab you one.”

He stepped away from her, his chest getting even
tighter when he saw how woebegone she was. He strode up the hallway
to his bedroom and grabbed a handful of handkerchiefs from the
tallboy, quickly returning to the kitchen.

Violet was wiping tears from her cheeks with her
finger tips and looking faintly embarrassed when he entered. He
handed her the handkerchiefs. She wiped her face and blew her nose.
Finally, she made eye contact with him.

“
Sorry for dumping all that on you.
Way to ruin an expensive bottle of wine, huh?”

“
Shut up,” he said, then he kissed
her, because there was no other way of conveying how he
felt.

Protective and aroused and amused and admiring were
only the tip of the iceberg. Every minute, every second with Violet
was a revelation. She was astounding—strong and fragile, fiery and
gentle, shy and bold. A walking, talking contradiction. A puzzle. A
mystery a man could spend a glorious lifetime unraveling.

The thought made him break their kiss and take a step
backward. Violet’s eyes were closed and she opened them slowly. He
stared into their amber depths and felt the foundation stones of
his very existence shift out of alignment.

From his earliest days, he’d had so many fixed ideas
about the way he’d wanted his life to be. So many boxes he’d wanted
to tick.

He’d never had the courage or breadth of imagination
to conjure up Violet, to imagine a life with her by his side.

More fool him.

He took another step away from her, a little
frightened by his own thoughts. “I’d better get this meal on or we
won’t be eating till midnight.”

Chapter Nine

Violet sipped her wine and watched Martin move about
his kitchen with surprising, revealing confidence. She’d never
dreamt that he cooked, but he clearly did. He enjoyed it, too, as
evidenced by the well-used chopping board and his extensive spice
collection and the comprehensive selection of cookbooks she
glimpsed when he opened the pantry.

She peppered him with questions about their meal as
he worked, partly because she was fascinated by this new glimpse
into him and partly because she was embarrassed after losing it all
over his shirt front.

She shouldn’t have told him about her family. It
didn’t reflect well on anybody, least of all herself, and it was
ancient history. A little raw today, perhaps, but still ancient. As
for Elizabeth’s news... There were a million kinder ways she could
have broken it to him. Not that he seemed devastated by the
revelation that Elizabeth wouldn’t be coming home.

But then he would hardly share that kind of reaction
with Violet, would he? Not when they were sleeping with each
other.

She swallowed more wine and tried to simply let it
all go. She couldn’t do anything about the past, and she couldn’t
do anything about Elizabeth, and she couldn’t take back the things
she’d just told him.

“
It’ll be all right,
Violet.”

She glanced up and found him watching her steadily.
Reassuringly. She’d heard the same words hundreds of times over the
years, but they gained a new power when Martin said them. He was so
certain. So solid and real and determined.

She nodded, feeling somehow lighter.

“
Why don’t you go into the living
room and find something to put on the stereo?”

She dutifully collected her glass and wandered into
the living room.

“
CDs are on the far left of the
bookcase,” he called.

She spotted them and headed over. She quickly
discovered that his taste was surprisingly eclectic. Bach and
Beethoven, Springsteen and Simon and Garfunkel, Coldplay and Adele.
Her eyebrows rose as she spotted a familiar bright yellow CD.

“
Since when did you like the Sex
Pistols?” she called.

“
Since I was fourteen and surrounded
by skinheads and angry, disenfranchised youth.”

She smiled to herself as she pulled the CD free and
slotted it into the player. Not your traditional holiday fare, but
this was hardly a traditional celebration.

She was about to head back to the kitchen when she
spotted a crisply folded invitation displayed on the mantle. The
opening, crashing chords of ‘Anarchy in the UK’ filled the room as
she gave into curiosity and stepped closer.

It was an invitation to a Spring Equinox dinner at
the Savage Club. She grinned, knowing how hard Martin had worked to
position himself for membership to the exclusive club. Her father
had been a member for years and she’d heard enough about the stuffy
goings-on there to know beyond a doubt that she would be bored
senseless by it all, but it meant something to Martin. How
wonderful that he’d finally got what he wanted.

She wondered idly who he would take. Elizabeth was
going to be a tough act for any ordinary mortal woman to
follow.

Her belly got tight as she thought about Martin
taking some other woman to a fancy dinner. She wondered who amongst
his acquaintances it would be. Someone from work, perhaps? Or maybe
he had a female friend who could step in to help him out.

He could always take you.

The idea was so preposterous she
scoffed out loud. She and Martin had had sex a handful of times,
but they weren’t in a relationship. She wasn’t foolish or naive
enough to indulge in
that
little fantasy. The dinner was in the middle of
March, more than two months away. He’d have well and truly moved on
by then.

Besides, she was the last person he would want to
take to the Savage Club. He’d want someone who would do him credit.
Someone sleek and demure and suitable. He might enjoy fucking
Violet, but she was about a million miles from the sort of woman
he’d want on his arm at such an event.

She set the invitation back on the mantle and
returned to the kitchen.

He was sautéing something on his impressive six
burner stove top.

“
That smells good,” she said as she
resumed her stool.

“
Potatoes Dauphinoise. We’ll have it
with coq a vin and green beans in garlic. I’m afraid I only have
ice-cream for dessert.”

“
I’ll try to choke it
down.”

He flashed a smile at her over his shoulder. She let
her gaze slide down his back to his ass. Impossible to look at his
body without remembering how it felt to have him on top of her, his
welcome weight pressing her into the bed, his body moving inside
hers...

Martin returned to the counter to collect a bowl of
chopped something, his gaze meeting hers. He stilled for a second,
then a small, knowing smile curved his mouth.

“
Be patient,” he said, his voice a
little rough.

That he knew what she was thinking—what she
wanted—simply from looking at her only turned her on more. Somehow
she managed to make it through the main meal, but when he went into
the kitchen to serve the ice-cream she followed him and lured him
to the bedroom.

She had her wicked way with him in the bed, then
later in the shower. Afterward, she made noises about leaving
because she didn’t want to overstay her welcome, but Martin took
her clothes from her and ordered her back into bed. They slept
curled together, and in the morning they made love again before he
drove her home.

That night set the tone for the next six weeks. If
Martin was busy with work, she came to his place and lounged on his
couch reading a book while he went over contracts or reviewed
material. When she deemed he’d done enough for the day, she
distracted him in the most mutually beneficial way. When they
weren’t at his place they were at hers, doing much the same, minus
the work. She introduced him to the joys of reality TV when she
discovered that his idea of unwinding was a vigorous squash game.
He introduced her to the joys of good meals, fine wine and an
awesome stereo system.

Every now and then she experienced a tiny jolt of
shock when she realized that this was Martin St Clair she was doing
all this with. Never in a million years did she think she would
wind up lying on a couch alongside him, his hands doing wonderful
things to the arch of her foot while they watched ‘Dancing With The
Stars’. He made her laugh, he made her think, and, yes, sometimes
he aggravated her with his high-handed, this-is-the-way-it-will-be
pronouncements. She never let him get away with it, though, and
they squabbled more than once. But they always made up
spectacularly, so she figured it was well worth the
aggravation.

Because the days were short and it was still cold
outside, it was easy to feel as though they were living in their
own little bubble. There were precious few real world
interruptions, and it made it deceptively easy for Violet to
pretend that what was happening between her and Martin was
contained and private. She spoke to Elizabeth at least once a week,
and every time the conversation was focussed on Nathan and the
plans he and Elizabeth had made for the future. The usual guilt and
self-recrimination weighed on Violet after she put the phone down,
but not telling Elizabeth about Martin had become it’s own problem
now that so much time had passed. Once the cat was out of the bag,
Elizabeth would be bound to ask questions and when Violet answered
them honestly, Elizabeth would know that Violet had sat on her
confession for nearly three months. Three months during which they
had talked multiple times, with Elizabeth sharing all the important
and unimportant details of her life, while Violet had withheld the
most significant happening in her own. A happening that had very
direct, personal resonance for Elizabeth.

Because she was only human, Violet tried to justify
her behavior and minimize her disloyalty to her friend. She told
herself that Elizabeth had clearly moved on—she was deeply,
head-over-heels in love with another man, after all, so much so
that she planned to emigrate to be with him—and that Elizabeth
herself had said many times that she had never loved Martin the way
he deserved to be loved. Elizabeth had no claim over Martin. He was
a free agent. As was Violet.

When Violet was feeling very calm and rational, both
those arguments almost convinced her that Elizabeth would be
totally fine with the news that her best friend was getting it on
with her ex-fiancé. Then she thought about how she would feel in
Elizabeth’s shoes and she knew that even the most generous and
open-minded of friends would have trouble accepting that bare weeks
after Elizabeth had called off her engagement, Violet had jumped
Martin’s bones.